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gth of ribbon with a gold edge that used to be mine； given to me by the missus more years ago than i could remember。 underneath all the other junk there would still be the threads of silver she had worked out of the curtains the day hester arrived。 and half…hidden beneath the jumble of rubies； glass and junk； there was something that didn’t seem to belong。 something leather。 i put my head on one side to get a better view。 ah！ that was why she wanted it！ gold lettering。 i a r。 what was i a r？ or who was i a r？ tilting my head the other way i caught sight of something else。 a tiny lock。 and a tiny key。 no wonder it was in emmeline’s treasure box。 gold letters and a key。 i should think it was her prize possession。 and suddenly it struck me。 i a r！ diary！
i reached out a hand。
quick as a flash—her looks could be deceiving—emmeline’s hand came down like a vise on my wrist and stopped me from touching。 still she didn’t look at me。 she moved my hand away with a firm movement and brought the lid down on her box。
there were white pressure marks on my wrist where she had held me。
‘i’m going to go away；“ i said experimentally。 my voice didn’t sound terribly convincing。 ”i am。 and i’m going to leave you here。 i’m going to grow up and live on my own。“
then； full of dignified self…pity； i stood up and walked out of the room。
it wasn’t until the end of the afternoon that she came to find me on the window seat in the library。 i had drawn the curtain to hide me； but she came straight to the place and peered around。 i heard her approaching steps； felt the curtain move when she lifted it。 forehead pressed against the glass； i was watching the drops of rain against the window…pane。 the wind was making them shiver； they were constantly threatening to set off on one of their zigzag courses where they swallow up every droplet in their path and leave a brief silvery trail behind。 she came to me and rested her head against my shoulder。 i shrugged her off angrily。 would not turn and speak to her。 she took my hand and slipped something onto my finger。
i waited for her to go before i looked。 a ring。 she had given me a ring。
i twisted the stone inward； to the palm side of my finger； and brought it close to the window。 the light brought the stone to life。 green； like the color of my eyes。 green； like the color of emmeline’s eyes。 she had given me a ring。 i closed my fingers into my palm and made a tight fist with the stone at its heart。
john collected buckets of rainwater and emptied them； he peeled vegetables for the pot； he went to the farm and returned with milk and butter。 but after every task； his slowly gathered energy seemed exhausted； and every time i wondered whether he would have the strength to heave his lean frame up from the table to get on with the next thing。
‘shall we go to the topiary garden？“ i asked him。 ”you might show me what to do there。“
he didn’t reply。 he hardly heard me； i think。 for a few days i left it； then i asked again。 and again。 and again。
eventually he went to the shed； where he sharpened the pruning shears with his old smooth rhythm。 then we lifted down the long ladders and carried them out…of…doors。 “like this；” he said； reaching to show me the safety catch on the ladder。 he extended the ladder against the solid garden wall。 i practiced the safety catch a few times； then went up a few feet and down again。 “it won’t feel so secure when it’s resting against yew；” he told me。 “it’s safe enough； if you get it right。 you have to get a feel for it。”
and then we went to the topiary garden。 he led me to a medium…size yew shape that had grown shaggy。 i went to rest the ladder against it； but “no； no；” he cried。 “too impatient。” three times he walked slowly around the tree。 then he sat down on the ground and lit a cigarette。 i sat down and he lit one for me； too。 “never cut into the sun；” he told me。 and “don’t cut into your own shadow。” he drew a few times on his cigarette。 “be wary of clouds。 don’t let them skew your line when they blow about。 find something permanent in your line of vision。 a roof or a fence。 that’s your anchor。 and never be in a hurry。 three times as long in the looking as in the cutting。” he never lifted his eye from the tree all the time he spoke； and neither did i。 “you have to have a feeling for the back of the tree while you’re trimming the front； and the other way around。 and don’t just cut with the shears。 use your whole arm。 all the way up to your shoulder。”
we finished the cigarettes and stubbed out the ends under the toes of our boots。
‘and how you see it now； from a distance； keep that in your head when you’re seeing it close up。“
i was ready。
three times he let me rest the ladder against the tree before he was satisfied it was safe。 and then i took the shears and went up。
i worked for three hours。 at first i was conscious of the height； kept looking down； had to force myself to go one more step up the ladder。 and each time i moved the ladder； it took me several goes to get it safe。 but gradually the task took me over。 i hardly knew how high i was； so absorbed was my mind in the shape i was making。 john stood by； mostly silent。 once in a while he made a ment—watch your shadow！ or think of the back！—but mostly he just watched and smoked。 it was only when i came down from the ladder for the last time； slipped the safety catch and telescoped it； that i realized how sore my hands were from the weight of the shears。 but i didn’t care。
i stood well back to study my work。 i walked three times around the tree。 my heart leaped。 it was good。
john nodded。 “not bad；” he pronounced。 “you’ll do。”
i went to get the ladder from the shed to trim the big bowler hat； and the ladder was gone。 the boy i didn’t like was in the kitchen garden with the rake。 i went up to him； scowling。 “where’s the ladder？” it was the first time i had spoken to him。
he ignored my brusqueness and answered me politely。 “mr。 digence took it。 he’s around the front； fixing the roof。”
i helped myself to one of the cigarettes john had left in the shed； and smoked it； sending mean looks to the boy； who eyed it envio